A Shattered Pearl
by Wirral Bagpuss
Summary: What if Mary Watson died at time other than during the Hiatus? This is an AU story written especially for the wonderful Live Journal Community Watson's Woes challenge 005.


**A Shattered Pearl**

"…_In an experience of women which extends over many nations and three separate continents, I have never looked upon a face which gave a clearer promise of a refined and sensitive nature…" (Observation of Dr John Watson on Mary Morstan in Sign of Four)_

The long hot summer's day had drawn to a close and the cool breeze of evening had descended on London. Dr Watson decided to walk back home from his Kensington practice as it was such a warm evening. He smiled as he put on his coat and thought of Mary. She had promised him a surprise that night, and Watson was intrigued to know what surprise Mary had for him. He sighed contently as we walked down the street towards home. _I met Mary because of some pearls that she came to Holmes with. But Mary will always be my pearl. _Watson smiled and walked briskly home, enjoying the exercise and grateful that his old war wounds were not paining him as they had been doing for a while now. Mary had been concerned and Watson remembered fondly her gentle scolding of him, telling him to rest. _Mary is right, I do need a break. Maybe I can persuade Holmes to come away with me and Mary for a few days near the coast, Brighton perhaps? That would be most pleasant_. He chuckled softly at the thought of Holmes taking a dip in the sea.

As Watson approached closer to his home, lost in his thoughts, he did not see or hear the approach of a man coming quickly towards him. Watson had reached his front door when he was pushed harshly to the ground and Watson turned in surprise and consternation at the attacker. Out of nowhere he felt a hard punch land squarely into his jaw and felt the attacker try to wrestle free his medical bag from the other. Realising he was after his medical supplies and the drugs that were amongst the supplies, Watson fought back and delivered a strong blow and wrestled with the attacker for his medical bag. The bag slipped to the ground during the struggle and with a snarl of rage the attacker placed his hand inside his pocket and brought out a revolver. Watson seeing the danger he was now in lunged for the revolver and grabbed the thug's arm, it was during the ensuing struggle for control of the revolver that Mary came to the front door and screamed in horror at the sight of her husband in mortal combat with the attacker.

"JOHN!-" Mary cried, reaching out for her husband.

Her cry was cut short by the sound of a revolver being fired and the two men staggered back and fell to the ground. Watson let out a groan as his shoulder took the impact of the fall and he struggled to get up. His attacker recovered quickly from the fall and got up, made an audible gasp, dropped the revolver and immediately took flight down the street disappearing into the cobbled alleys of London.

Watson finally got himself up, shaking the dust off him. He shook his head and then looked up to his wife. And then he saw a sight which would haunt him in his dreams for many years afterwards.

Mary. Lying still, a river of red cascading over her beautiful white dress.

Watson stood frozen, unable to comprehend what he was seeing. He then rushed forward towards the still form of his wife and his legs gave way as he collapsed down in front of his wife. Her lips were moving and Watson bent down to hear what she was struggling to say and then there was silence. Automatically he searched for a pulse, his doctor's training taking over. He could find none, Watson searched frantically again, to no avail.

"Nooooooooooooooo!" cried Watson who began breathing air into her mouth and began pressing down on her chest.

His hands were soaked in blood as he tried again and again but to no avail. With tears running down his face, Dr John H Watson, MD faced the inevitable medical prognosis. His wife, his beautiful pearl was dead. He screamed. Clutching Mary closely he rocked her gently, sobbing. Time seemed to move slowly, but at last a gentle but firm hand touched his shoulder and Watson looked up to see a Policeman bending over him saying something, but Watson did not hear. Watson looked back down at his wife and clasped her hand and was surprised to find something inside her porcelain hand. He carefully uncurled her soft hand and found two pearls. Watson took them gently from her hand and into his own, clutching them tightly.

"Sir I must ask you to come with us to the station to give a statement" said the burly policeman gruffly.

"Holmes, I want Holmes…" replied Watson, who pushed the policeman away and staggered down the path into the busy street.

"But Sir…" shouted the Policeman.

Watson ignored the policeman until he could hear him no more. He concentrated solely on the one man and place who he needed right now. Blanking everything else out Watson continued to walk through the streets of London oblivious to the gasps of people around him. Finally he reached his destination and knocked on the familiar door of 221b Baker Street. It was opened by Mrs Hudson. She gasped at the sight of Watson who stumbled into the hallway, and made his way up the seventeen steps, stumbling on one or two, before finally making it to the top before collapsing in physical and emotional exhaustion. Instead of hitting the floor he was caught by strong hands. Watson began to sob uncontrollably crying the name of his now dead wife.

***********

Sherlock Holmes had been practicing on his violin when he heard the door opened. Surprised, he put down his Stradivarius and he flung open the lounge door and looked in horror at his Boswell. He was stumbling on the last two stairs. His hands and front shirt was covered in blood, his face was smeared with grime and tears. Holmes caught Watson as he fell and he felt Watson's entire frame shake as he sobbed Mary's name over and over.

"Oh my dear Watson, I am so terribly sorry" said Holmes softly as he wrapped his arms round Watson and drew him nearer.

For several minutes Watson held onto Holmes, his grief pouring out, before exhaustion overwhelmed him and he slipped into the arms of Morpheous. Holmes carefully lifted his grief stricken friend into his arms and carried him into the lounge, gently laying him on the couch. Holmes sat next to Watson watching him. _I will catch whoever did this to my Watson_ thought Holmes furiously. After watching him for several minutes Holmes removed the bloodstained shirt and using the bowl of water and sponge in his bedroom gently removed the caked blood on Watson's hands. He was surprised to see two pearls drop from his hand and onto the floor. As Holmes bent down to pick them up, he noticed that they had been shattered in the fall.

The sound of the pearls clattering to the floor awoke Watson who stirred and his eyes opened. The hazel eyes once vibrant and alive with life were now dull and full of pain.

"Easy, Watson, it's alright. I am here, I am with you". Holmes said soothingly, placing a hand on Watson's arm and gripped it supportingly.

Watson could barely move, the shock of what had happened had overwhelmed him. He looked at Holmes with the pearls in his hands and gripped his shoulders, and sobbed.

"Holmes…Mary…she was planning a surprise…her last words –"Watson broke down and once more Holmes held Watson.

"It's alright Watson, shhh, you don't have to continue" said Holmes who held Watson whispering into his ear.

But Watson continued his voice broken and bitter.

"Holmes, Mary was carrying my child-". Watson buried his face in his hands and could continue no more.

Holmes looked at the shattered pearls and closed his eyes in shock and silent rage over the fiend who had broken his Boswell's heart. Watson would have his justice, he would see to that. But Holmes knew it would be a long time before he could repair a shattered heart. But he would stand by Watson whatever happened. He may have lost his family, but Watson would never be alone. He put his arms round protectively around Watson and held him tightly as Watson's tears flowed once more. The dawn sunrise of the following day found Watson asleep on Holmes's shoulder and Holmes still holding onto Watson. United in grief and friendship.

************

Watson stood in the cold winter wind. Snowflakes were beginning to fall. Christmas was a few days away, but he did not feel like celebrating. He looked down at the grave which marked the site where Mary Watson was buried. Watson bent down ignoring the pang of pain in his leg. He wiped away the snow from the headstone to reveal Mary Watson's name. Watson traced it with his gloves, a tear rolled down his cheek, and he angrily wiped it away. He dug out a silver box from his coat pocket and opened it to reveal two white pearls. . He dug into the soil and gently placed the box into the ground replacing the soil. He tried to get up but he found it hard to do so, and was grateful for the sinewy hands and arms that helped him back up, guiding him to a nearby bench where they both rested for a moment.

Holmes looked at his old friend in concern. He had aged considerably in the few months following Mary's death. His youthful looks were replaced by haggard lines and heavy eyes that spoke of sleepless nights. Indeed he remembered the nights when Watson would scream in his sleep and he had come to Watson's room and stayed with him until the nightmares were over. Often resting a soothing hand on his forehead and whispering words of comfort softly to him until Watson relaxed and slept into a fitful sleep once more. Holmes's remembrance was interrupted by a grief stricken and lonely voice.

"There will never be another woman for me Holmes. Mary was my life and soul, I miss her every day" said Watson.

Holmes nodded in understanding.

Watson smiled sadly and continued.

"I never did tell you our plans for children Holmes. We had agreed on names. If it had been a boy we wanted to name him after you. And had we had a girl we would have called her Pearl. After all it was because of pearls that I met my dearest Mary. We wanted you to be the Godfather, to be part of the family".

Holmes struggled to hold back his tears and slipped his arm into Watson's as they got up from the bench and slowly walked their way out of the churchyard into the busy London streets.

Holmes collected his thoughts and turned to Watson

"Watson you still have a family, you are my pearl I could never face losing. Please don't ever think of you not having a family. You are a friend who is worth more than all the treasures of the world could ever give me. I would be lost without my Boswell".

For the first time since Mary died, Watson turned and faced Holmes and smiled replying

"I too would be lost without the greatest and wisest man I have ever known".

The two friends disappeared into the swirling snow, the warmth of their friendship melting away the icy and cold of a winter's night. Behind them a woman was standing watching Holmes and Watson leave, rejoicing in the companionship between them. She looked down and opened the palm of her hand to reveal two pearls. She smiled and walked back into the graveyard gently fading away.

* * *

_**Awwwh Poor Watson! Am glad he has Holmes as a friend!! I had a great time writing this, i hope you enjoyed reading it. All reviews and comments most welcome as always ! :)**_


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